


Party Favors

by lovetincture



Series: Something Wicked [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood As Lube, Blood Drinking, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon Hannibal Lecter, Extremely Dubious Consent, Horror, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Monsterfucking, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: "Scream, if you can. If your parents can get to you before I do, I'll let you go."A demon named Hannibal pays a visit to a boy named Will Graham. Will is terrified of Hannibal; he's more scared of his father. Hannibal can help with that, but first he'll make things so much worse.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Something Wicked [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534619
Comments: 34
Kudos: 278





	Party Favors

There’s a small slip of a thing sitting bolt upright in its bed, staring at him. It’s all eyes and hunger—Hannibal can hear its stomach growling from here. It’s got a mop of ragged hair and sheets printed with garish children’s cartoons.

This child is scrawny, barely good to eat.

It is  _ terrified, _ and that’s considerably more interesting.

Hannibal isn’t strictly corporeal—he is nightmare and malice—but he can bend reality in his own small ways, if he so desires. He does so now, folding his body into something approximating the shape and size of a human, something with vocal chords so he may speak.

“Child, what is your name?”

Small-and-scared flinches away from the sound of his voice. It probably won’t speak. They so seldom do, and Hannibal unhinges his jaw, ready to eat this one, ready to

“Will Graham.”

He clicks his teeth shut with a snap. He rolls his lips back over them.

_ Interesting. _

“Hello, Will Graham.”

Will Graham swallows nervously, and Hannibal watches the muscles shifting and flexing below the surface of his skin. This child is not a fighter. Hannibal has seen fighters. He's eaten them. This one is something… else.

Something charming that makes him offer, "Scream, if you can. If your parents can get to you before I do, I'll let you go."

Fear billows off Will in thick waves, heavy and smothering as cedar smoke. His eyes grow wide. "No!" He says. "If I do, he'll hurt me."

Hannibal tilts his head at an unnatural angle. Empty liquor bottles on the floor, human fist-sized holes in the wall, a bright swell of purple over the boy's face, vivid even in the dark.

"I'll hurt you," he points out. He makes sure it sees Will glint of his claws. "Quite badly, I should think."

Will takes a shaky breath. He closes his eyes. This would be a good time for Hannibal to eat him, but something makes him wait.

At last Will nods. Opens his eyes.

"Okay," he says. "Do it."

Ah. There it is. This is  _ interesting. _

* * *

Will is used to nightmares. He’s used to things that go bump in the night, sees them whenever he closes his eyes. He’s learned not to scream about them, not to cry, because crying brings his dad and  _ I’ll give you something to cry about. _

It’s not much of a surprise to see a nightmare standing before him in the flesh. It’s actually kind of a relief.

“I’ll hurt you quite badly,” it says, and all Will can think is  _ finally. _

The monster blinks at him. He thinks it blinks. He’s not sure if it has eyelids. The red coal glow of its eyes flickers.

It doesn’t move.

They can’t stand there all night staring at each other, so eventually Will crosses the room on skinny legs studded with bruises and scraped knees. He stands so close to the thing he can smell the scent of ozone coming off it and touches a long talon, shivering at the feel of it, cold and slippery beneath his fingers.

“What’s your name?” Will asks, braver than he feels. “Do you have a name?”

“Hannibal,” the monster says.

“Hello, Hannibal.”

Hannibal tips Will’s chin up with one finger, and Will’s gaze immediately drops to the floor.

“So scared,” Hannibal murmurs. “Are you ready to start?”

“I guess,” Will whispers.

Hannibal presses harder, digs the tip of one black claw into the vulnerable skin beneath Will’s chin. He drags his finger down, cutting through the ratty t-shirt and shorts Will had worn to bed. He gasps, both at the fresh fear that ignites at the thought of being laid bare, and at the bright line of pain bisecting him from stem to stern. He touches the path the monster had traced, and his fingers come away wet and sticky with blood.

“They’re very sharp,” Hannibal says.

He presses Will back down onto the bed with a firm hand, flips him over before he registers what’s happening. Will pants, clutching at the sheets.

Hannibal sits on the bed and drags Will into his lap.

He doesn’t ask what Hannibal is doing because he already knows. Knowing doesn’t make it any less shocking when Hannibal traces a hand down the crack of his ass. The touch of his fingers feels like electrocution, and Will jumps.

Hannibal chuckles like broken glass, spreading his cheeks wide and embarrassing, dragging the taloned tip of a finger over Will’s sensitive hole. He jolts again, but he’s held firmly in place. He’s been touched there before, but never with anything this sharp.

He can’t stop the thin whine of terror that escapes his mouth.

The first edge of real pain comes when the tip of a nail pricks into the soft skin of his entrance in earnest.

“Please don’t,” he gasps when he realizes what Hannibal means to do, remembering those same claws slicing through his clothes like butter. “You’ll rip me open.”

“I told you it would hurt,” Hannibal says, but the claw stops. It halts its brutal exploration, hovers poised above his skin. “Would you like to try screaming now?”

Will takes deep gulps of breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. He’s bare-assed over the monster’s knee. It reminds him of his father. It makes his stomach do a funny flip.

He shakes his head, and the monster is almost polite. “Very well,” Hannibal says.

The sharp pin-prick is back, but this time it doesn’t stop. It presses in and in, stabbing into him until he thinks he might scream anyway.

Hannibal offers his arm. “Here,” he says. “Bite.”

Will doesn’t think; he just does. He clamps his teeth around the offered limb, and he’s surprised when it just tastes like skin, warm and soft and a little bit salty. Against all reason, he tries not to bite too hard—he doesn’t want to hurt Hannibal—but then the monster slides his finger all the way into his body, and he bites down convulsively. His mouth is flooded with something hot and bitter.

He cries out at the taste and the intrusion.

“Shh,” Hannibal says. He holds its finger still, letting Will adjust to the size of it. His body clenches around it, trying to expel the foreign object, and the muscle contractions send rippling spasms of pain through his body. His claws are so sharp.

“Relax,” Hannibal says.

Will makes an angry sound around the flesh in his mouth, and Hannibal takes that as his cue to start moving. He pulls his finger out fractionally and pushes it back in. It feels like being cut open from the inside, and Will jerks, trying to get away. That makes it so much worse, and the pain makes him feel ill.

He hurts too much to try to get away, so he goes limp and lets it happen. He’s rewarded by the finger drawing all the way out, blessed relief before it slides back in. It goes in easier this time. Will feels slick with something he realizes must be his own blood.

“Why?” Will asks. It comes out muffled and garbled, but the creature seems to understand him anyway.

“Because you’re all so pretty when you suffer,” Hannibal says. He takes his arm back and runs his free hand through Will’s hair, down his back. Soothing, petting.

He pushes Will off its lap and down onto the bed. Hannibal arranges him just so, flat on his belly with his thighs parted. Will can feel wetness seeping out of his hole, and Hannibal uses his fingers to push it around. He doesn’t put his fingers back inside, just rubs along his rim in a way that’s starting to make Will feel warm.

“Are you going to fuck me?” he blurts.

Hannibal dips his finger inside suddenly, and Will gasps. Blood runs ticklish and wet between his legs.

“Is that what your father does?” Hannibal asks, pushing his finger further in.

“Sometimes. He— _ ah— _ pretends he doesn’t remember, but he’s lying. I know he does.”

“Does it hurt when he fucks you?”

_ “Yes.” _

“Humans use sex in so many interesting ways. A gift bent to serve a curse’s purpose. You use it to corrupt one another, to harm and maim. I don’t have any particular use for sexual gratification, but I do so love the work of your kind.”

It forces another taloned finger into Will’s hole, the nails scraping and clawing against his insides. Will digs his hands into the bed sheets and screams into his pillow.

It goes on for a long time. By the time the creature finally pulls its fingers out, Will is half out of his mind, floating on endorphins. His stomach is cramping badly. Will is good at going somewhere else in his mind. He’s good at escaping everyday torments, and it turns out he’s good at escaping this, too.

Right now he’s far enough away from here that it’s funny when Hannibal scoots himself back to lean against the wall. It’s funny to see a creature out of nightmares leaning against his Spiderman posters. Will laughs, and there’s an edge of hysteria in it.

Hannibal reaches for him, and Will lets himself be pulled into the monster’s lap, limp as a doll. Hannibal’s fingers leave smears of Will’s own blood on his skin where it’s grasping at his hips. There’s something heavy and hard between Hannibal’s legs, as midnight-dark as the rest of him.

Will closes his eyes and prays.

Hannibal chuckles. “Don’t pray to him. Pray to me. No one else can help you, little one.”

He lines its cock up with Will’s hole and pushes him down.

Hannibal is much bigger than Will’s dad, and Will bites through his lip trying not to cry out. His senses are flooded with blood, the scent in his nose, the taste in his mouth. He whimpers at the feeling of being split open, the dry drag of a cock inside him pulling his cuts open.

“Stop,” he gasps. “Stop, stop.”

Hannibal smiles wide and toothy, mouth full of too many sharp teeth.

“Your bowels are perforated,” he says. “That’s the pain you feel. You’ll probably die if I don’t help you.” He pulls Will up like he’s no heavier than a toy and shoves him back down again. He cocks his head like a bird of prey. “I’ll help you, if you ask me to.”

Will stares into those burning coal eyes, full of malice and evil. He reaches out and touches the thing’s face. He kisses it on the mouth.

“Help me,” he says.

Hannibal grins impossibly wider. “Of course,  _ mylimasis.” _

Will doesn’t know what that means. All he knows is that Hannibal is driving up into him, filling him, ripping him, making him cry out. Hannibal leans forward and licks the tears from his cheek. He reaches down to encircle Will’s groin with a hand, to push his foreskin back and play with his soft cock.

It feels strange and invasive even as he pushes into it. He starts to get hard, and Hannibal’s cock sliding in and out of his ass starts feeling good too.

“That’s it,” Hannibal murmurs. “What a good boy you are.”

He doesn’t want it. He  _ doesn’t, _ but no one’s told his body that. He uses the muscles in his thighs to raise himself up and grind himself down. He’s so wet that it’s easy now. The pleasure pushes the pain back, and soon he’s leaning his head against Hannibal’s shoulder as he rides him, soft grunts escaping his lips as he works himself onto Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal curls a hand possessively around the back of his neck.

“Lovely,” he says.

He bends in a way no human can bend and wraps his tongue around Will’s small cock, lapping and sucking at the head. It feels so good that Will cries out, clenching involuntarily and setting off sparks of painpleasuregoodbad. He feels the edges of Hannibal’s teeth, just as sharp as his claws, and he whimpers.

“Don’t bite. Please, please don’t bite.” He moans around the words, full and caught and ruined.

He feels the ghost of teeth against his sensitive skin, keen-edged and threatening. It’s a small mercy that Hannibal doesn’t bite down. He licks at Will’s shaft instead, coaxing a litany of helpless moans from him.

“Your tongue’s so rough.”

Hannibal doesn’t answer, just continues licking and sucking. The fear thrumming through Will’s veins stokes his desire, both rising in him like a fever. He puts tentative hands on Hannibal’s head and earns an approving growl in response.

Then the door flies open, and the light flicks on, throwing the nightmare dark into vivid relief. Will blinks and squints against the sudden glare. 

“Billy, what have I told you about—  _ what the fuck is that?” _

Will jerks at the sound of his dad’s voice, automatically trying to turn toward it, but Hannibal holds him fast. He raises his head and smiles, wide and pointed.

“Billy, are you alright?” His father sounds terrified, more scared than Will’s ever heard him.

“Are you the child’s father?”

Will is mortified, painfully aware that he’s still naked, that he still has Hannibal’s cock buried in him. He’s terrified of Hannibal, but he’s more scared of what his dad will do to him.

He shrinks closer to Hannibal’s side, pressing himself against the monster’s chest. He feels Hannibal laugh as he runs strangely gentle fingers through Will’s hair, claws scratching against his scalp.

_ “Mylimasis,”  _ he says again, and Will still doesn’t know what that means.

Hannibal stands, lifting Will effortlessly. Hannibal lays him down on the bed and stalks toward his dad. Bill Graham Sr. is plastered against the wall, shrinking back into it as if he could disappear. The front of his jeans is wet, and he reeks of piss and booze.

Will watches with morbid fascination. It’s the first time he’s ever heard his dad pray.

“Our Father, who art in heaven—”

Hannibal laughs. He is tall and broad, a moving point of darkness in the bright room. He’s even more terrible in the light, and Will feels a strange burst of pride.

Hannibal stops before his dad, cocking his head and breathing deep, like a dog scenting prey.

Will tries to sit up for a better view, but his stomach hurts too bad when he does, so he settles back against the pillows.

“Watch this, Will,” Hannibal says.

Will does.

Bill Graham Sr.’s scream ends with a wet gurgle, and his blood sprays across the wall like cherry Koolaid. His intestines almost look like streamers when they pool on the floor.

“It’s like a party,” Will says.

* * *

He must have passed out because he remembers waking up. There are a few hopeful seconds where he thinks it was a dream. Then he tries to sit up and fails miserably, falling onto his back.

He hurts a lot, and there’s blood everywhere. A lot of it is his. The sheets are sticky beneath him, and he’s cold.

“Hannibal?” Even he can hear the rising note of panic in his voice.

“I’m here, Will.”

The voice is coming from below him, on the other side of his room. Will pushes himself up onto his elbows with a soft sob and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Hannibal is crouched beside the body of his dad, down on all fours with wet, red blood smeared around his mouth. Some of his limbs don’t bend the right way.

“Dad.” Will’s heart lurches, then his stomach. “Are you… _ eating him?” _

Hannibal smiles. He extends a long, taloned hand in invitation.

“Come.”

Will hesitates. He weighs his options and decides he has none.

_ Come _ is a lot easier said than done. Fine tremors have overtaken his body, and his hands shake even as he tries to push himself up. His legs won’t obey him, so in the end, he settles for shoving himself out of bed and falling to the ground with a loud  _ thump. _ His hip and shoulder take the brunt of the impact, and he cries out as the sudden collision jars his tattered insides.

He crawls across the floor while Hannibal waits patiently. Will’s never thought of his room as particularly large, but it feels that way now. It feels like it takes a small eternity to cross it, to come close enough to collapse at Hannibal’s feet.

Hannibal rubs a hand across Will’s face and hair, matting it with gore, murmuring things in a language Will doesn’t speak. It occurs to him what this reminds him of, now. Hannibal touches him the way Will had patted his own dog, when they had dogs.

The scent of death is overwhelming this close up. The blood is copper and cloying, and the fetid smell of ripped intestines permeates the room. Will gags and is very nearly sick. Retching hurts. Everything hurts.

“Look,” Hannibal says.

He looks. His dad doesn’t look like much in death. He doesn’t look half so terrifying as he did in life. Half of his face is missing, and Will can see teeth gleaming like red pearls where his jaw has been ripped away. Will looks at the missing flesh and at Hannibal’s wet mouth and suddenly knows where it went.

“Eat,” Hannibal says.

Will swallows. “How?”

Hannibal trails one sharp claw down the pale, clammy expanse of his father’s chest. A red line blooms, and Hannibal dips his claws into the opening and widens it. The crack of ribs is sickening, and pieces of bone jut out like broken branches. He rips the heart from its moorings and places it into Will’s shaking hands.

“Eat.”

It’s still warm.

Will closes his eyes and eats.


End file.
